


Be Here, With Me

by adamwhatareyouevendoing



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, drummond is taking a leaf out of alfred's book and being the least subtle™, peel is surprisingly perceptive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2019-01-01 01:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12145182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adamwhatareyouevendoing/pseuds/adamwhatareyouevendoing
Summary: Drummond has some explaining to do, if only he can get Alfred to listen.Fix-it (of sorts) for 2x04. Don’t worry, they get to be happy!





	Be Here, With Me

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last night (when I totally should have been sleeping) because I couldn't get it out of my head. My boys, I love them so much. I really really hope they get something together.

It has been a week since that fateful moment on the steps of the club, when Drummond had been forced to confess his engagement. A week, and still Alfred has not looked at him. They have both been present at many meetings between the Queen and Prime Minister, and at the opening of the tunnel, and nothing. Alfred refuses to meet his gaze, and has not spoken a word to Drummond since he hurried past him, clearly upset. He is beginning to despair that Alfred will never forgive him; that he will never get a chance to explain.

“Drummond,” Robert Peel says impatiently, breaking into his thoughts. The Prime Minister’s expression suggests that he has been trying to get hold of Drummond’s attention for a while.

“Sorry, sir?”

“I said, are you quite well? You’ve been rather out of sorts this week.”

There seems little point in denying it or hiding the fact. “Quite well, sir. Only… I am to be married,” he admits reluctantly. It still pains him to say the words, though not as much as it did to hear them repeated back to him, in Alfred’s choked voice.

Peel looks as though he is about to offer his congratulations, but something in Drummond’s expression must stop him, because instead he says, “You don’t seem happy about this fact.”

“My father arranged it,” Drummond tells him. “She has a title. It will be a good match.” He wishes he could believe it, but they are hollow words. Peel is clearly not appeased either, waiting for the justification as to why his Private Secretary has been so despondent recently. “It’s just... It’s not her that I love.”

“I see,” Peel says carefully. He offers no chastisement. He looks faintly uncomfortable, but not angry or disappointed. “And does this other person know you’re engaged?” he asks, after a moment.

“Yes,” Drummond whispers, in a small, pained voice, unable to banish the image of Alfred’s expression when he’d told him—watery blue eyes and a faltering smile. “That’s the problem. I feel like I need to explain, but now they won’t talk to me; they won’t even look at me. I don’t know what do,” he admits helplessly.

He has dedicated his life to politics, not romance. He never expected this to happen. Two years ago, it would not have mattered; he could have been content in an arranged marriage, and settled for fondness rather than love. But then he had met Alfred, and could no longer deny who he was, and what he felt.

He doesn’t expect Peel to understand, not completely, but he is desperate for any advice he can give.

The poor man still looks faintly uncomfortable, but there is a decisive air to his voice when he says, “Then you need to find a way to talk to them.”

Drummond attempts to explain, omitting some details, that he has tried that, but Alfred has not visited the balcony—their balcony, as he now thinks of it—as far as he is aware. He has spent a few desperate hours there himself over the last few days, waiting, hoping. Nothing. If Alfred has come across him, he has not announced himself to Drummond. Not that he can blame him. He would probably do the same if their positions were reversed.

But Peel shakes his head. “You don’t need them to talk, you just need them to listen. Try approaching them, rather than expecting them to approach you.”

It’s simple, but just might work. Now he just needs to find the right moment.

 

-

 

Two days later, they visit the palace again. The Queen is busy with christening plans, and the Prince is preoccupied by the arrival of his brother and uncle, but agrees to meet with the Prime Minister anyway. He almost seems glad of the distraction.

Meeting concluded, talk turns to the imminent arrival of the Prince’s guests. Peel muses about Prince Ernest remaining as yet unmarried, staring studiously at the carpet. Drummond thinks it is almost deliberate.

The Prince’s nose wrinkles. “He must find a bride, but he does not want to.”

“He wishes to marry for love, not duty,” Peel notes, glancing at Drummond. It was definitely deliberate, then.

“Well, we cannot always get what we want,” the Prince murmurs petulantly.

Drummond cannot help it—his gaze slides to Alfred before he can stop it. Alfred does not see because he isn’t looking at him; Peel does.

When the Prince leaves, Alfred follows. Drummond watches him go, his feet rooted in place even as his heart follows Alfred out of the room.

Peel takes a step forwards, lowering his voice. “Go to him,” he urges.

“I —” Drummond starts, feeling the need to deny it, but Peel is not stupid. Anyone looking at him properly can probably tell what Alfred means to him. Except Alfred himself, apparently.

“Go to him,” Peel says again, softer this time. “This is your chance. Don’t regret doing nothing.”

Drummond takes his advice and leaves the room.

 

-

 

He finds Alfred where he always knew he would. The balcony. He walks quietly across the carpeted corridor, careful not to alert Alfred to his presence. He allows himself a moment just to admire the sight of him in silhouette, letting his eyes drink their fill after what feels like a lifetime of drought, even though it has only been a week of stolen glances.

He has been so used to seeing Alfred’s face these past few months; a warm, comfortable familiarity developing between them, and if Drummond has allowed himself to flirt a little, he is almost certain that Alfred has returned it. He is as sure as he can be that Alfred feels the same way. Or at least did, before he went and ruined it, in a place where he couldn’t tell the truth, openly, plainly, honestly, and explain.

He watches Alfred in front of him, nearing the end of his cigarette, and almost loses his nerve. He almost creeps away as quietly as he arrived, but something stops him. Perhaps it is the remembrance of that beloved face, twisted with heartbreak, rushing past him without being able to offer a word of comfort.

So instead he steps forward, his foot hitting the stone floor of the balcony at the same time as he announces his presence with only a slightly shaky, “Lord Alfred.”

Alfred turns immediately in surprise, his eyes fixing on Drummond for the first time in an age. He catches sight of Alfred’s expression—raw and pained—before he can cover it. He would give anything not to see that look ever again.

Then, wordlessly, Alfred moves to walk past him, stubbing out his cigarette and returning it to its case. He is a step away, almost into the hallway, when Drummond reacts, realising he truly is about to leave.

His hand reaches out almost of its own accord and catches Alfred’s wrist. Alfred stops dead, but does not pull away. Nor does he look at him.

“Please, let me explain,” Drummond pleads, suddenly uncaring of his desperation. He will get down on his knees and beg if he has to. “Alfred.”

It is the use of his name, plain and simple without the title, that finally gets Alfred to look at him. His eyes are shining with undisguised hurt now, and Drummond hates that he has been the one to put it there. He hopes Alfred can see the apology in his own eyes.

“Alright,” Alfred says at last. “But not here.”

He is right. If they are going to do this—have this conversation properly—they cannot risk being overheard.

Alfred twists his hand so that he is now holding Drummond’s in his own. “Follow me,” he murmurs.

 

-

 

They do not encounter another soul on the short walk to Alfred’s chambers, which is a blessed relief.

Alfred locks the door behind them. Drummond barely has chance to marvel at the fact that he is here in his room, no matter what the circumstance, because Alfred turns and he is afraid once more.

“So,” Alfred says, “explain.”

Drummond looks at him, gathering all of his courage. He is determined to make the most of this moment; desperate for Alfred to understand. If this is their only chance to be together like this he does not want to mess it up.

“As you know, I am engaged,” he begins, trying to ignore the fresh look of pain that claws onto Alfred’s face. “My father set it up. I don’t want to, but it has been arranged. Do you see?” he begs. “I will do it, because it is expected of me, and because I cannot marry the person I truly wish to.”

“Why not?” Alfred asks quietly.

“I think you know why,” Drummond returns, just as softly. He is quiet for a few moments, considering. But there is nothing to lose now. He can admit the truth. “I cannot be with the person I love.”

Alfred looks at him with a warmth he thought he had lost forever. It is a moment of silent understanding.

“You cannot marry the person you love, that is true,” Alfred says eventually. “But it doesn’t necessarily mean that you can’t be with them.” There is a sparkle of mischief in his eyes now.

“Alfred,” Drummond says, but it comes out as more of a caress than a chastisement; sounding more like agreement than a warning.

“Edward,” Alfred returns, with a teasing smile that could drive a saint to corruption. He takes a step forwards to close the distance between them. “Be here, with me, now,” he murmurs.

 _He knows_ , Drummond thinks with relief, _he understands_.

“I do,” Alfred says, and Drummond realises he must have spoken aloud. “Edward,” he commands softly, “kiss me.”

Drummond can see the answering love shining in Alfred’s eyes as he moves closer.

Tonight might be all they have, but it is enough. To be here together, like this, even for one beautiful moment—it is everything he has ever been looking for.

 


End file.
